Archer studied his shoes, brushing off an invisible scuff mark. “She said the show was getting a little ragged.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Mateo huffed, turning back and sinking into a demi-plié.

“And … she asked if you were okay. She said you seemed … unhappy, and she offered to help.”

Mateo froze for a second, then continued, sliding a foot out into fourth. “I’m the same as always. I don’t know what she thinks she could possibly do, besides get me to sign some more shit for her.”

Archer blinked. “You said you didn’t mind that.”

“Well, I mind.” Mateo turned to face him again, dark, flashing eyes a stark contrast to the lilting piano music. “I fucking mind, Archer. I don’t want to be reminded about that time in my life, and I can’t fucking escape it, even here, goddamnit.”

“You—” Archer started, but Mateo put a hand up.

“Don’t. Just … don’t.”

The back door swung open. They stared at each other, the sounds of laughing and chatting crescendoing around them.

“I’m sorry,” Archer said helplessly as Betty and a handful of others trooped in.

Mateo reached for his headphones and shook his head. “Go warm up,” was all he said.

Archer swallowed the lump in his throat and did just that.

Their tango was ice-cold that night. There was no heat in Mateo’s touch, no fire in his eyes. Stewart likely would have been horrified and brought the entire performance to a screeching halt if he had seen it. What made it even worse was knowing that the audience could see it too. He pictured Eileen out there in the crowd, pursing her lips and shaking her head. Archer slouched into the greenroom after the second show, more wretched than ever.

It was much the same on Wednesday, and Archer couldn’t shake the sense that everything was going horribly wrong.

“What’s up?” Caleb asked after the second show, dropping next to him on the bench. “You seem sad.” He leaned forward for a kiss.

“I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

“Listen, Ben had such a fun idea. He said we should go on a hike tomorrow, take a picnic with us. Something a little different.”

Archer smiled as best he could. “That does sound fun, but … I might take it easy tomorrow.”

“What? You have to come.”

“I don’t know … Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

“Oh no.” Caleb frowned. “I hope not.”

“But you go,” Archer said, squeezing Caleb’s knee. “Have fun.”